“Okay. Ready to go? Remember, I have plans tomorrow.” I tap my foot against the terra cotta-colored Spanish tile on the balcony of one of the city’s nicest hotels. Fortunately, it’s not the hotel where Rafa’s staying, which mercifully means the universe is giving me a break and not tempting me into falling into a nearby bed with him again.

Still, two hours into the pirate party, I can’t take any more. The schmoozing with the local officials, Rafael’s intense politeness with everyone he meets, the way he grins at me from across the room and attentively makes sure I always have a champagne in my hand—it’s too painful.

Everything makes me remember how fun and easy he is to be around, even with his slight bossiness. He’s really quite charming, a fact I’d exiled from my memory. Take the way he walks down the street: always with me on the inside, away from traffic and pedestrians, as if he’s protecting me. Or how he asks if I’m hungry when a tray of appetizers pass or if I need to use the ladies’ room if we happen to be near one.

This, us, is only temporary. Which makes his kindness agonizing. So why not cut the night short and leave me with my misery and my memories?

Rafael flashes me a glance after I plead again to leave. “There was once a time when you were annoyed when we couldn’t spend several hours together, do you recall?”

“I do. But those days are gone, Rafa.”

“It’s a beautiful night out, Justi. Too beautiful and too early to go home. Just relax.”

I watch him scan the six cabanas circling the hotel’s rooftop pool. Gauzy white canopies drape over the cabana beds.

“My feet hurt.” I try to appear bored in hopes he’ll get frustrated and bring me home.

Rafa grabs two glasses of champagne off a tray from a passing waiter and hands both to me.

“Wait no—” I protest.

Rafa touches the waiter’s arm with the back of his fingers.

“Excuse me. May we rent a cabana?”

I let out a low, strangled groan.

“There’s a wait of about an hour, sir,” the waiter replies.

Rafa takes a hundred-dollar bill out of his wallet. The waiter nods and motions for us to follow, and I do, reluctantly. The waiter stops at a cabana and parts the almost sheer, white drape. Rafa hands him the money as I roll my eyes and plop down. Why does he want to prolong this night?

Rafa climbs onto the bed after me, propping himself on pillows as if he’s relaxing in his own bedroom. He pats the spot next to him. “Come, Justi. Chill a little, please. A few minutes.”

I hand him his champagne and sit against a cushion, as close to the edge and as far from Rafa as I can be. We lie in silence for a bit, and admittedly the lounge bed is like a comfy cloud. My muscles ease and I realize how tense I’ve been all night. Each cabana has a cluster of electric candles on a shelf at the head of the loungers, casting a gold, flickering light across his flawless skin. The fact that he’s so arrestingly handsome makes every second difficult. I blink in his direction, unable to stop staring at him.

With a small, almost bashful smile that shows his white teeth, Rafa sets his champagne on the chaise’s ledge, then turns on his side toward me. I watch him tuck and adjust his shirt, and I swear he wants me to see more of his chest. I fight back a little grin.

He undoes the final two buttons of his shirt, his muscles and skin practically beckoning me in the candlelight. I hear the strains of jazz coming from inside, and the night turns heavy with sensual promise—exactly what I don’t want.

“When did you get so muscular? You always had a nice body, but you were leaner in college.”

“I know you probably think all of my free time is spent screwing beautiful women, but really, I don’t have a lot of time away from work. When I do, I work out. It helps with my frustration and anger.”

I fight the urge to lick his stomach, and my face ignites when I recall how I once lapped honey out of his bellybutton. “Whatever. What have you got to be frustrated about? You’ve bought most of Miami and half of Latin America, according to what I’ve read. You have everything you ever wanted.”

He sighs and stretches his arm above his head, as if he’s trying to work out a kink. He rotates his arm, and his hand lands casually on my hip, as if his limb had a mind of its own.

“Smooth. Real smooth, Rafa.”

He ignores my teasing. “Do I have everything?”

I shrug and try not to pay attention his hand, which is now squeezing my hip. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

He gives me the predatory smile again and inches closer with his body. We’re now stretched out, side by side, and he’s running his hand over my curves and over the ridiculous outfit.

“There’s one thing I want that I don’t have.”

“And that is?”

“You.”

What? My jaw drops, and I reach up and set my drink on the ledge next to his glass, then again settle back down next to him. “What are you saying? We broke up. I left, and you didn’t come after me. Or return my calls or emails or letters.”

He nods slowly. “That’s true. I was deeply wounded when you abandoned me. I didn’t handle it in a mature way.”

I stay silent and wait for him to continue. I’m not sure I’m ready to rehash our past. Abandoned. And what about what he’d done to me? How he’d ignored my grief at the worst possible moment?

“Well, your realization that you weren’t mature is a good sign for our friendship, I figure. Maybe there’s hope yet.”

He brushes my hair back with his hand, and I melt inside. “I want to fuck you again, Justine.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Well. So much for maturity.”

Still, the way he says the word fuck sounds dirty and makes me swoon. Crap. I can’t get involved physically with him, no matter what. I heave a sigh and start to sit up, which is made harder by my outfit. I try to wriggle the miniskirt down my thighs. “Jesus. That’s quite a statement, out of the blue. We talked about this last night, Rafa. No.”

“Wait.” He puts his hand on my forearm. “Let’s talk.”

“What is there to talk about? I don’t want to mix business and pleasure. Or maybe you’re not here on business. Maybe you’re here for some twisted, Gatsby-like revenge where you show me how rich you are, fuck me, and leave me wanting more. I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Thanks, but no thanks.”

He smirks. “You’ve always had such a way with words. But I have come to a decision about your newspaper. There’s a two-part proposition.”

“I can’t wait to hear this, especially after telling me you want to fuck me,” I mutter. I flop onto my back, the muscles in my neck knotting once again. “Excellent intro into a business deal. You should try it with your next deal: I want to fuck you and then invest in your company. Or maybe you have?”

“I’m ignoring your snark. And I can assure you that this isn’t my usual business tactic, but you’re not my usual business partner.”

“Okay. Whatever. What’s the proposition?”

His fingers pluck at my flimsy skirt. “The first part is, I’m considering giving you ten million dollars in exchange for seventy percent ownership of the Times. That would allow you to pay off debts and give you a cushion.”

I perk up and shift on my side to face him. Ten million is way more than I anticipated and far beyond what the paper, the property, and the physical assets are worth. “Now this is a conversation I actually want to have. I’d be open to that arrangement. I’ll be honest, it’s more than I expected.”

He looks at me, serious. “As majority owner, I’d have the final say in all the decisions involving the paper. You might not like some of those decisions.”

“I know. But you’d trust my input, wouldn’t you? I do think I know the news business better than you do.”

“You know a vast amount about the editorial side of the paper, and I unequivocally trust you with the decisions in that realm. You’re in over your head on the business side. Regardless, I’ll have to see how viable the paper is after several months.”

“That’s probably true. But what do you mean? You might eventually close the paper?

He shrugs. “It will all depend on profit. And this isn’t a formal offer yet. It’s something I’ve been thinking about.”

I stare at him warily, and the silence is thick. Something about this whole offer makes me uneasy, and my heart begins to pound.

He reaches his hand to mine, which is resting in the space on the cabana bed in between us. Tingles shoot up my arm.

“Justi, here’s the thing. It’s going to be really difficult working alongside you. My, um, desire for you is pretty high. I’ve never gotten over you, you know.”

I nod slowly. “I’ll admit that I’m still really attracted to you as well. But I know it’s not good for me. For us. Not after our past, not after what happened. We’re going to have to be strong. Professional.”

“I’ve thought about that, as well.”

“The sexual tension, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to have to deal with it.” I nibble on my bottom lip.

He reaches his finger to my lip, gently pulling it from my teeth. He doesn’t let go of my chin. “There’s a second part to my offer.”

“Okay.” I hold my breath.

“The ten million is yours if you spend the next month with me.”

I pull his hand away from my mouth and spit out a chuckle, which turns into a body-rocking, tear-inducing laugh. I lie on my back, cover my face with my hands, and hoot like a crazed owl.

“You are asking me to prostitute myself for my newspaper?” I gasp for air. “Oh my God. Oh my shits. Are you for real?”

He grins but doesn’t say anything. I cackle more and sit up so I can reach my champagne glass. Tipping my head back to capture the last of the bubbles, I’m laughing again, and a little liquid spurts from my mouth and onto my chest. Which makes me laugh harder and snort unbecomingly. I flop back on the pillows.

“Shut up. Stop. Rafa. Stop. You always had a great sense of humor, but this is the funniest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I’m not joking, Justine.” Rafa sits up and, with his middle finger, touches the bead of champagne that rests on my breast, massaging it into my skin first with the pad of his finger, then so that all of his fingers are stroking my cleavage.

My body’s suddenly engulfed in a five-alarm fire.

I stop laughing.

“You’re serious? Dear God,” I whisper.

He nods. “Very serious.”

“You’re asking me to screw you for money?”

The corners of his mouth turn up. “Well. I don’t know if I’d put it that way. That’s rather vulgar.”

His finger trails between my breasts, and I try to focus. “But it is vulgar. You’re basically wielding your power and money over me, you know that?”

Rafa smiles, and his eyes focus on my breasts as he continues stroking my skin. “I do. Although I’m not really trying to buy you, Justi. Mostly it’s because I want to fuck you. A lot. If you agree, we both enjoy a hot time together, and we can walk away happy. Resolved, even. Think of the next month as closure for our past. End on a good note instead of the awful one from all those years ago.”

Jesus. Wasn’t this exactly what Diana had suggested?

“You can have any woman you want here in St. Augustine or Miami or anywhere in the world.”

He lowers his voice. “I don’t want any woman. I want you. Te deseo mucho.”

“You want me because I said no to you the other night.”

“That could be part of it. You used to never say no to me. And other women don’t say no to me.”

My stomach sinks when he mentions being with other women. “Whatever. Can we please leave now? I need to sleep.”

“You’re not going to give me an answer?”

“No, because it’s such a ridiculous fucking question, Rafa. Offensive, even. You wouldn’t do this with the other business people you cut deals with. At least I’m guessing you wouldn’t.”

I sit up and so does he. He grips the back of my arm. “You know, Justine, I recall when we used to play all sorts of sexual games.”

I can’t look at him, because it’s true. When we were together for those four years, we started as virgins and then escalated from there. We’d experimented with BDSM, we’d had anal, we’d role-played. Everything.

“Remember the time you pretended you were a prostitute and met me in that seedy motel in North Miami, and I paid you after you—”

I held up my hand. Just recalling that scene makes nerve endings in certain places pulse disconcertingly. Rafael had been my first lover. He wasn’t my last, but I’d never been as sexually adventurous with anyone else. Why? I guess it had never felt right.

“Why not play with me now, Justi? Act out some of our old fantasies. Make some new ones. You know it will be amazing. We always played so well together.”

He kisses my bare shoulder. I’m not sure how to respond, but my pulse spikes. He slips his hand under my skirt and inches toward my inner thigh. His touch feels safe and sensual all at once.

There are also embers of shame burning in my stomach because I’m seriously considering his offer. On a practical level, I need to save my newspaper.

On a not-so-practical level, I want him inside of me.

Studying his face, I tilt my chin upward. I remove his hand from my leg, letting it drop in between us on the chaise lounge. “Play? Us? Are you up for that?”